


Black Oceans

by sunbreaksdown



Category: Homestuck
Genre: AU, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-23
Updated: 2011-10-23
Packaged: 2017-10-24 21:51:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/268265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunbreaksdown/pseuds/sunbreaksdown
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Redglare's raid against the Gamblignants doesn't go quite as expected, and Mindfang knows exactly how to make a prisoner out of somebody without the use of shackles.</p><p>(It takes Redglare a moment to realise that her hands are still forming fists around Mindfang's horns. She slowly lets go of them, hands relocating to Mindfang's shoulders, fingertips digging in. Not for any semblance of support, but just so that she can wrap her hands around Mindfang's throat, in case the need arises. Mindfang lets out a short, breathy laugh, but there is something far from humour wrapped up in the noise, and the next thing Redglare knows, Mindfang has taken hold of her by the backs of her thighs and lifted her feet clean up. Redglare growls from the back of her throat, still painfully disorientated, and as something in her head swirls, taking its time in draining away, her legs wrap around Mindfang, as if she wants to snap her in two.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Black Oceans

     When Redglare awakens, she is aware of nothing but the tinge of sea salt all around her.

     She is crumpled in a heap on her side in the shallow water, no more than an inch or two deep, certain that her left cheek must be coming up in an impressive bruise by now. Parting her lips to groan only causes the salty water to trickle into her mouth, and then she can taste it as well as smell it. Redglare's head pounds. It's as if the horn that's scraped against the floor hasn't always been joined to her head by hardened flesh, and is simply something that's been thrust into her skull, splintering the bone there. She lifts one arm, the arm that isn't currently pinned between her body and the ground, and presses it to the floor that she's certain is swaying beneath her. Her glove fills with water at the wrist; there's a hole in one finger, a tear splayed across the back of the fabric.

     With a huff, Redglare manages to push herself into a sitting position. She isn't so reckless as to try standing quite yet, because it seems that remembering how she got where she is, wherever she may be, is far more important than that. Straining to think only causes her head to ache all the more, so she focuses on her surroundings, rather than try to dig up the recent past. First, Redglare checks her body for more obvious wounds (open cuts, bones jutting out of place, parts missing) but finds that, with the exception of her spinning head and the tender patches of flesh that are sure to blossom into bruises, she's in one piece. She listens, hears a clatter of sounds too far away to distinguish from one another, but hears nothing like a drip close by. Whatever flooded this block likely didn't do so by means of a leak. Beneath the film of water, the floor is all solid planks of wood positioned close to one another, so as to stop the water from draining away with any sort of rapidity.

     Redglare's just glad she didn't drown in it. Still, it isn't water that's on her mind. Fire, rather, and though she recalls the heat striking against her, she gets the distinct impression that there wasn't _enough_ of it. She heard the wood crack with heat, fabric and flesh alike burning, practised screams, clashing metal—

     Mindfang's ship. That's where she has to be.

     And this is a cell, then, at the bottom of the ship. But there are no shackles around her wrists, no chains biting into her flesh. No doubt because Mindfang wants her to have to rise to her feet, to reach out and grope blindly through the dark, only to have her fingers wrap around the rusted slats of her cage. Redglare refuses to give her that satisfaction, and remains where she is, knowing that there is little use in searching her surroundings. There's no chance that Mindfang has left her locked away with her cane, not because she could make use of the blade hidden inside, but because she is at even more of a disadvantage without it, being in unfamiliar territory as she is.

     Not that she's going anywhere. At the very least, there's some relief to be found in the fact that her surroundings really _are_ swaying, so the potential threat of permanent think pan damage can be stricken from her list of things to concern herself with. Redglare takes deep breaths, trying to inhale more of her prison, but finds that salt is left behind when her hair dries, and along with her damp skin and wet clothing, she can't smell anything but it. Everything around her is obscured, and Redglare can't help but feel as if it's been done entirely on purpose. If nothing else, Mindfang certainly pays careful attention to detail.

     Redglare scowls as she clambers to her feet, hoping to dry off faster that way. One hand rests against the wall to ensure her balance remains steady, and all she can think is that Mindfang's neck ought be in a noose right now, her boots warming the hangman's feet. Ending up as a prisoner marks Redglare's first failure, and there is not even the glory of death to be grasped at. She wonders how the courtblock will react to the news, because her return to land is a matter of when, not if, and considers the possibility of being executed for her inadequacy. Mostly, she wonders if she was ever expected to succeed in the first place. Mindfang is notorious, and she is nothing but a neophyte known for little more than her glazed, empty stare.

     Redglare actively noticing that a guard hasn't been assigned to her cell immediately jinxes her, and a hefty door swings open beyond where she supposes her prison bars must be. For a moment, the sound of winds roaring far above filter into the hull, but then the door slams shut, frame creaking, and almost absolute silence takes over again. Fabric rustles, boots clack against the side of the block where the floorboards are actually dry, and a breath is let out through what must be a smile. If Redglare's other senses weren't flooded so, then she knows she could inhale deeply and feel the stench of sulphur burning bright run down the back of her throat.

     She does her best to stand tall, hands at her sides. Not behind her back, as if submitting to authority, or crossed over her chest to display the disadvantage she's been put at. Redglare may not be able to see these gestures for herself, and relies on those signs that others don't realise they're letting out, but she knows the importance of them regardless. Keeping her balance would be easy, if only she wasn't too stubborn to reach out and splay her fingertips against the wall in another's presence, if only Mindfang had left her with her cane.

     “Neophyte,” Mindfang says eventually, and there is something incredibly personal in it, though she only uses her title. Redglare nods once, shallowly. She will not answer Mindfang, not yet, but she will not make herself out to be missing more than one sense. “I was beginning to wonder whether you would ever rejoin us in the land of the waking. That was a brazen display you put on, if I might be so bold as to say as much.”

     _Display_ she says, and not _attack_. It must've been days, at the very least, since Redglare's raid went askew, else Mindfang wouldn't have had the time to find herself in such high spirits about it all. Redglare counts two more slow footsteps, each one carefully placed. The block can't be that large, Mindfang can't be more than a few feet away from her. She hears a brief knell sound before it's quickly muffled; the sound of ringed fingers wrapping around iron. Knowing well enough not to back down, Redglare takes one step forward, then another, each time fearing that she'll press herself too close to the bars, but doesn't.

     “Nothing to say, darling?” Mindfang asks, and then has the gall to laugh. She thinks that she's won. She thinks that this means something. Redglare considers her reply carefully. Shaking her head would only make her seem like a wiggler throwing a fit after not getting their own way, and shrugging would be far too indecisive. Eventually, she tilts her jaw up half an inch, eyes narrowing. “I see. Well, let it be known that I tried, and extended the elusive olive-branch of potential peace.”

     Mindfang reaches for something. Her ridiculous outfit creases, bunching together loudly as she fishes around what must be a pocket, and then Redglare hears something else clink against her cell bars. Without a goodbye, Mindfang makes her way from the hull, door closing quietly behind her. Redglare doesn't allow herself to move straight away, needing to know that Mindfang has _really_ gone. It would be all too easy for her to open and close the door without stepping through it, but long minutes pass and Redglare hears no breathing other than her own.

     Still not entirely convinced that she isn't alone, she lifts a cautious hand, two fingers carefully searching through the empty space before her. She refuses to touch the bars, even though Mindfang has already seen her behind them, conscious, but she is admittedly curious to as what Mindfang's left behind. A jutting corner, certainly nothing metallic, presses into the tip of one finger, and Redglare frowns. Carefully picking up her glasses, she smooths her fingers across the lenses, only to find that they're in surprisingly good condition. No cracks, no scratches. Mindfang must've taken good care of them.

     She didn't even realise she hadn't been wearing them.

*

     At some point, her cell is unlocked.

     The troll who comes down to presumably release her says nothing and doesn't wait around. He doesn't even push the door to for her, though Redglare hears a key turn in the lock. A good thing, too, seeing as nobody has seen fit to bring food down to her throughout the days she's been able to keep her eyes open. While Redglare has absolutely no idea of the ship's layout, or how the crew has been instructed to react to her, she's also well aware that Mindfang is challenging her. The captain wants to see whether she'll wander out of her cell, her cage, and more than that, wants to know whether Redglare will dare approach her.

     Redglare opens the cell door carefully, in nothing close to a hurry. She even makes the effort to close it behind her as she leaves. This part isn't terribly difficult, as after a moment spent feeling around the small block beyond her cage, she discovers that there's only one way for her to go. For a moment, she considers kneeling down and picking up something, anything, that could be used to guide her in lieu of her cane, because the more time that passes the more her head seems to ache. Along with the inconsistent rhythm of the ship rocking, she's finding it close to impossible to gather her bearings, though she refuses to allow such an excuse to keep her where she is. Opening the door, Redglare takes the stairs upwards one at a time, allowing her toes to bump against them with every step she takes, so that she always knows when there's another coming.

     There is no handrail, but Redglare supposes that there's no shame in placing her hands against the closed in walls here. The steps are hardly many in number, and upon reaching a level that must be closer to the deck, and happens to be a good deal dryer, she pauses, hesitating for the first time. There is only one place for her to go, logically, and that's to Mindfang's chambers, but Redglare has no idea which way to head, for neither left nor right mean much to her on this ship. Eventually, she supposes she'll just have to follow the stench of debauchery.

     It doesn't take long to find her chambers, and Redglare expects that the Marquise intentionally made it easy for her. She grasps at a handle, pushes a door open, and then does not even need to duck her head in order to let her horns sail through.

     Inside, it smells nothing of sea salt, save for what Redglare herself brings in. Mindfang knows to save the best for herself, Redglare knows, and tries not to flinch or otherwise react when the scent of food wafts her way. Closing the door behind her, she makes her way to what she estimates to be the centre of the block, and stares out at where she hopes Mindfang is.

     “Take a seat,” Mindfang says after a long pause. She was most likely busy eating when Redglare came in. A moment later, she adds, “At the table,” humour lacing her voice. Trust a woman like her to find hilarity in disability, Redglare thinks with a scowl, and does her best to reach for the back of the hypothetical chair that's been offered out to her, without struggling to find it. It scrapes across the floor, bumping into her thigh; Mindfang must have pushed it over with her toes.

     Redglare takes a seat, and though it's a hard, wooden thing, it's endlessly more comfortable than the options of either standing or sitting in stagnant water she's been presented with for days. Trying to keep her movements sparse, Redglare flexes her toes, attempting to discern the boundaries of the table.

     “Eat, eat,” Mindfang says cheerfully, urging Redglare on in sharing in her greed.

     Under any other circumstances, Redglare would outright refuse her, but now, she knows that it's better to accept Mindfang's offer than to allow her stomach to rumble in front of her. Redglare picks up something she can tolerate, rather than something she actually enjoys, because she doesn't want to allow Mindfang to learn anything more about her. She doesn't worry about anything as trivial as poison, because Redglare knows that she's been kept around for a reason.

     There's a lot that Redglare could ask Mindfang. She could demand to know how long they've been at sea for, and how long it's been since she was taken prisoner. She could ask where they're heading, why Mindfang's let her out of her cell, and what she wants with her, but she bites her tongue. Imagining Mindfang making a show of things and sitting before her in all of her finery, Redglare carefully removes her tattered gloves and lays them across her lap.

     “Still nothing to say?” Mindfang asks, as if her feelings have truly been hurt. “Hardly surprising, though you must be curious about certain things. Your defeat, for one.”

     Redglare imagines that Mindfang's neck is currently awaiting the guillotine's blade, and it makes the whole one-sided conversation much more tolerable. Mindfang continues to ramble on about nothing of importance, herself, mostly, her so-called victory, like she doesn't realise that this is merely the first round of many. There's a ringing in Redglare's right ear that she's only just noticed but must've been there all along, and her attention wanders. If this is where Mindfang entertains guests, then her bed chambers are to the right of them, and Redglare can't fail to notice two light, giggling voices from beyond the partition. Whores talking amongst themselves, and no doubt told to remain there entirely on purpose.

     “They'll find me, you realise,” Redglare says quite suddenly, cutting Mindfang off in the middle of whatever it was she was saying. Perhaps it wasn't her own determination that kept her quiet this long, so much as the hunger that clawed at her.

     “You're going to set your lusus on me, are you?” Mindfang asks, takes a sip of her wine, and then makes a point of laughing. “Goodness. Doesn't he let you have any fun?”

     Redglare's frown deepens. She hadn't meant to refer to Pyralspite specifically with that comment, because while she isn't certain who would come along to rescue her, she knows too well that the subjugglators won't allow Mindfang to go free. Mindfang continues to chuckle as she finishes off the whole of the glass, her third in Redglare's presence alone, and then decides that a subject change is in order. Redglare might be imagining it, but she's almost positive she hears envy in Mindfang's voice as she mocks Pyralspite.

     “Don't you at least want to know what I look like?”

     Mindfang leans forward, knocking a fork from the edge of her plate in the process. Instinctively, Redglare leans back, perfectly straight in her seat. It's an absurd question, and Redglare knows what Mindfang is getting at, because there's only one way for Redglare to understand the way she looks in any real detail. She can easily recognise Mindfang, of course, because her blueberry scent is distinctive enough, and can imagine her clothing without even having to try, but she has honestly never paused to consider the particulars of her body. When Redglare does not answer, Mindfang speaks again, this time through a smirk.

     “My horns, at the very least. How do you imagine they look?”

     If there's one thing that gets under Redglare's skin, it's not knowing. While she doesn't want to indulge Mindfang in her guessing game, she doesn't want to appear to be in the dark either. Setting her jaw, Redglare exhales flatly through her nose, as if she hasn't carefully mulled over her answer.

     “Tall.”

     This pleases Mindfang well enough, who to no surprise, equates the size of horns with personal worth. Deciding that she's eaten more than she rightly needed to, Redglare stands, and does not take a step away from the table until Mindfang speaks up. She goes to great lengths to sound dismissive, and tells Redglare that she has other business that requires her immediate attention, and Redglare almost, _almost_ laughs.

     Redglare's barely out of the door, and yet there Mindfang is, unfastening her overcoat.

*

     She may not be confined to a cell, but Redglare is very much a prisoner, if only to the ocean.

     Though she could, she doesn't make her way to the deck, because there's no chance of her ever seeing land, anyway. Quarters have not been assigned to her, and she will not lower herself to sharing a sleeping place with the rest of the gamblignants. She has little choice, then, but to wander the expanse of the hull, free to move, as it seems that the crew have been ordered to let her be. They don't even speak up in her presence, let alone try to stop her in her tracks. Not that it would matter. Not that she's heading anywhere in particular.

     Redglare supposes that she could use her time productively and search for any damming evidence that could be used to condemn Mindfang further, but honestly, her fate is already sealed. She does spend some time looking around, if only to kill time, but gleaming metals, jewels and other trinkets have never done much to impress her. But Mindfang, at least, is impressed by her own prowess, and Redglare is hardly surprised when she finds that she's no longer alone in the block. She hasn't been followed the whole time, for she would've heard Mindfang's footfalls behind her, but Mindfang likely knew where she was bound to end up.

     Mindfang circles Redglare and the pile of loot in the centre of the block as if they are both prizes she's claimed, both on the same level. Redglare remains perfectly still, deciding to not go to any great lengths to face Mindfang until she's decided to stop stalking around like a stripebeast in the long grass. She only moves closer, predictably, and there's a clink of metal as she disrupts the treasure. The next thing Redglare knows, Mindfang has taken a firm hold of her wrist, and Redglare curls her fingers towards her palm just as Mindfang presses something into it. A sharp point and smooth sides; some sort of precious stone that's supposed to awe her, most likely. Redglare waits patiently for Mindfang to see fit to release her grasp, and neatly drops her hands down to her sides, jewel falling to the floor.

     “You didn't like it? It was red, you know,” Mindfang says with a long-suffering sigh, and Redglare frowns. She should've been able to tell that much without Mindfang's assistance. She's starting to think that her knock to the head was worse than she first imagined.

     Redglare grinds her teeth together, as if it'll do anything but make the pain worse.

     “I won't be paid off,” she says evenly, leaving the implication fluttering in the air between them.

     Mindfang grins, or at least Redglare imagines that she does, because there's a certain way she always exhales that's ripe with self-satisfaction; a slight rise of her chest, perhaps, as the expression settles into place. Redglare's glad that Mindfang sees fit to let the silence between them linger for a few moments, because it gives Redglare the time she needs to let her surroundings unfold in her mind. It's been days since she felt any colour around her, and if she doesn't start utilising her old ways soon, it might be too late for any sort of brightness in her life.

     “Pretty girls from port who needed to put food on their tables,” Mindfang says dismissively, although with some measure of pride, as if the use of whores isn't something any lowblood with a handful of beetles can achieve. “Are you certain you wouldn't like to map out my horns, darling?”

     Mindfang asks this suddenly, does her best to seem spontaneous, but Redglare knows that the words have been bubbling in her throat all the while. She only asks so as to make her uncomfortable, because she expects Redglare's lips to twist into a grimace at the thought, and so get the upper hand once again in that way. It's not enough that Redglare is her prisoner; she must be a prisoner made to wander swaying corridors that can never lead her anyway, lest she forget that there is no hope for her for tens of miles around. Not without Mindfang's generosity in allowing her to keep her life between her own hands. Redglare does wonder about that, why she's still alive, but she doesn't ask Mindfang because she's certain the answer would sicken her.

     Redglare tilts her head to the side as if anything actually needs to be considered, and lifts up both bare hands in the same moment, grasping for where Mindfang's horns should be. She doesn't miss. Her fingertips bump against them, and then her hands wrap around the horns. For once, Mindfang is silent not because she's biding her time, waiting for the opportune moment to speak her mind, but because Redglare's managed to shut her up. Her movements surprise herself as much as they apparently do Mindfang, but she decides that now that she's taken the first step, it wouldn't do to hesitate.

     She was right about one thing: Mindfang's horns do a great deal to add to her stature. Redglare brushes her thumbs up and down, feeling the ridges ring around her horns, no more pronounced than fingerprints, thicker where the colour darkens towards the base. There's something in the back of Redglare's mind that she can't quite reach, like a word that she knows as well as her own name but has somehow forgotten, and she thinks it must be the exact hue of Mindfang's horns, ready to burst on her tongue. But for now, knowing that they run from being darker to lighter is enough for her, and Redglare scrapes her thumbnails across the spiderweb-cracks that came with age and growth, only now realising how heavy Mindfang's breathing has become. For once, it doesn't seem that she's entirely convinced she can steer the situation as she wants, mould what's unravelling between them as she sees fit.

     Redglare's thumbs run up the entire length of her horns, reaching the top. There's a hook and a curve there, and it's about as crooked as she expected from Mindfang. Finally snapping out of a near trance-like state, Mindfang seems to mistake Redglare's careful attention for an invitation, and with her head still bowed, she takes quick, wide steps forward, as if charging right at her. Redglare does the only thing she can, stepping backwards at the same pace, so as to avoid tripping over. The heel of one boot clatters against a goblet made from some precious metal, and with a hiss her back thuds against the wall of the ship's hull. Mindfang presses herself hard against her, and the pressure only mounts when the wind picks up and the ship rocks all the more.

     It takes Redglare a moment to realise that her hands are still forming fists around Mindfang's horns. She slowly lets go of them, hands relocating to Mindfang's shoulders, fingertips digging in. Not for any semblance of support, but just so that she can wrap her hands around Mindfang's throat, in case the need arises. Mindfang lets out a short, breathy laugh, but there is something far from humour wrapped up in the noise, and the next thing Redglare knows, Mindfang has taken hold of her by the backs of her thighs and lifted her feet clean up. Redglare growls from the back of her throat, still painfully disorientated, and as something in her head swirls, taking its time in draining away, her legs wrap around Mindfang, as if she wants to snap her in two.

     “Much better,” Mindfang murmurs, and she is close now. Too close, even, because while Redglare's senses have been dulled since she awoke from her fit of unconsciousness, suddenly everything is blaring, overwhelming. If there isn't bile in the back of her throat then it's pure disgust. Redglare digs her fingers in at Mindfang's shoulders all the more, but Mindfang's jacket is far too thick for her nails to pierce through. “Come now, Redglare. Relax.”

     Something in Redglare's chest coils and rises up, and then she's racked with laughter, making it all the harder for Mindfang to hold her up. _Relax_ , she says, as if Redglare can't feel just how much tension her own body is knotted up in, how Mindfang wants to do anything but stay still. Redglare's laughter becomes a low rumble and then a cackle, and she sincerely hopes that it hurts Mindfang's ears to listen to.

     When all the humour garnered from the situation finally leaves her system, Redglare leans her head forward, forehead hitting against Mindfang's, causing the tips of their horns to scrape together. The Marquise is a repulsive, unlawful woman, there's no doubting that, but with her this close, Redglare's head is almost clear enough to smell every drop of blue rush through her veins under ashen skin. Mindfang tightens her grasp on her with one hand, making sure she's pinned against the wall well enough, and then slowly removes the other, placing it against the line of Redglare's jaw with a sort of tenderness that makes her want to howl with laughter again.

     But she doesn't, and then Mindfang's hooking one thumb around her lower lip.

     “When you laughed, I couldn't help but notice...” Mindfang murmurs, and Redglare is amazed by her own self-control when she doesn't snap the thumb Mindfang presses against her teeth clean off with them. “Considering I allowed you to inspect my horns, this only seems fair.”

     Redglare would very much like to ask whether or not Mindfang truly understands the meaning behind the word _fair_ , but it's a little difficult to speak when her misshapen, uneven fangs are being poked and prodded. Admittedly, Redglare is a little curious, wanting to know just what it is that Mindfang's up to this time, and so only grits her teeth together, baring them all the more as means of cautioning Mindfang from trying any of her usual tricks. This doesn't get her far. Apparently having overcome her bout of stunned surprise, inspired by the brashness of Redglare's movements, Mindfang leans forward, licking the front of her teeth. Redglare shudders, and knows immediately that she needs to compensate for such an open display of weakness.

     Mindfang draws her tongue away, taking no care to avoid brushing Redglare's lips in the process, and Redglare immediately bows her head, mouth pressed to Mindfang's throat. It isn't a kiss. She's pressing her teeth against the warm skin just below the corner of Mindfang's jaw, grazing them over her pulse point, feeling Mindfang's body give away far more than Mindfang should allow it to. Redglare hears Mindfang laugh, and she sounds absolutely terrified for it, because they both realise how easily Redglare could tear her throat to slick blue ribbons. And how much faith Mindfang must have in her own feelings, then, to allow herself to get into this position in the first place. She's holding her breath by this point, the nails of the hand that still at Redglare's thigh raking against it in jerky, unintentional movements.

     Taking down Mindfang here and now would be easier than anything she's ever done before, but Redglare knows that it wouldn't be enough for her. Mindfang needs to lose more than her life. She needs to see her fleet drowned, her crew impaled on dragon teeth, and everything she has, reputation and all, exiled to the bottom of the ocean. Her life needs to end in execution, not assassination, and Redglare knows that it is up to the courtblock to orchestrate. She will not play judge, jury and executioner for Mindfang.

     Redglare breaks her mouth away from her throat, though every muscle in her jaw positively aches for it. Mindfang breathes again, runs her fingers through Redglare's short hair, as if she's never conjured up anything resembling fear in her. The hold on Redglare's thigh looses, and she lets her legs fall slack around Mindfang, feet finding the floor again. Mindfang leans in quickly, carefully, and kisses her, no tongue or teeth, and then finally pulls herself away.

     For a few moments, Redglare was able to ignore the rocking of the boat. Now she realises that a storm must be building outside. Without another word, Mindfang leaves the block, and Redglare knows that she isn't a woman who would back out of a situation without getting exactly what she wanted.

     When the door shuts behind Mindfang, Redglare runs her tongue over her teeth, front and back, and wonders what it is Mindfang thinks she's accomplished this time.

*

     Redglare eats with Mindfang over the following days, out of necessity, not choice. She finds that slowly, bit by bit, some of the hazy blur that's guided her through the world thus far comes back to her. She begins tasting the colours of her food, can smell the textures again before she knows it. Mindfang says that the ocean air is doing her good, though Redglare has yet to venture out on deck. In one of the blocks where treasure is stored, there is a collection of antique chairs with cushions worked into the frames, and so she at least has somewhere to sleep that isn't the flooded floor of a cell.

     As the days pass and the ship continues to sail onwards, Redglare keeps her mind active by trying to estimate how far from her hive she must be. She never manages to come up with a figure that sits well with her, though, and nothing seems accurate enough. Mindfang tells her that she was unconscious for upwards of three nights, but Redglare has absolutely no inclination to trust this information, and so all her figures come out skewed. But she does not doubt for a moment that Pyralspite will find her soon enough, and she goes to no lengths to worry for his safety; fragments of the reckoning night filter back into her mind, and she knows that she did not lose because her lusus' life was taken.

     Why she lost isn't exactly clear, and she doubts that Mindfang understands everything that unfolded, either. Perhaps she underestimated Mindfang. Perhaps Mindfang really did have luck on her side. All that matters is that Redglare learns from her mistakes, and is able to take Mindfang down the next time they meet on a make-shift battlefield. Here things have to be even, because though Redglare does not doubt that she could overthrow Mindfang, she doesn't expect that she'd have as much luck with the entirety of the gamblignants. It's difficult to tell which of them are loyal to their captain because they freely wish to be and serve her of their own freewill, and which have been manipulated into believing that their actions and thoughts are of their own making. Redglare isn't certain who has it worse off.

     Although she wanders where she pleases, Redglare holds onto no delusions of being a free woman. She will accept that she is a prisoner, if only temporally, and does not feel that it is as much of a slight as it could be; Mindfang holds absolutely no authority, and this is all entirely illegal. Redglare will do as she wishes, so far as she is able to, and will neither bend nor break to Mindfang's will, convincing herself she feels something that she doesn't.

     Four days after the incident in the treasury and Redglare finds herself stripped, knees dug into Mindfang's mattress as she kneels over her.

     It is not the being naked that sets on her on edge. Mindfang too is similarly disrobed, pressed flat to her bed, and it's not difficult for a blind woman to tolerate the eyes of another on her exposed grey skin. It's simply the fact that Redglare knows that this can't be blamed on Mindfang entirely. They had been drinking with dinner, but they had not drank anywhere close to too much, and Redglare had simply demanded answers from Mindfang, finally. Where they were going, and what would be done with her, had seemed important at the time, but now Redglare can barely find the space to wonder why they had been so urgent at the time.

     Mindfang's hands are on her hips, and Redglare thinks she attempts to guide her not because she believes her to be incompetent for her blindness, but because she is a greedy, impatient woman. Redglare hesitates no more, body burning, not about to allow herself to back out, and lowers her hips a few inches, grinding herself between Mindfang's legs. She does what she can to keep herself silent, but the effort is entirely wasted; Mindfang lets out such a low, self-indulgent moan that nothing escaping Redglare's lips would've been heard, anyway. Mindfang arches her back already, and Redglare feels her hips roll against her, and she can't stand the way that her own body reacts, the way that it's suddenly so hard to draw down breath enough.

     It's all wrong. Mindfang murmurs out her name sweetly, and keeps reaching up to wrap her fingers around Redglare's wrists, so that she can guide her hands across her own body. Mindfang wants her to know exactly how she looks, how every inch of her juts and curves, and Redglare groans from the back of her throat, not wanting to feel more of Mindfang than she can take at the moment. Her senses are only just her own again, and Redglare tears her hands from Mindfang's grasp when she realises just how much she's bucking her hips against her.

     “I'm not going to kill you, darling, if that's what you suspect,” Mindfang says, breathless, probably barely aware that she's even speaking. Redglare doesn't understand why she's reacting quite so much, because surely Mindfang gets attention enough on a nightly basis from those she can manipulate and buy. When Mindfang's hands clamp around her hips, Redglare takes hold of her wrists, this time, pinning them above her head, pushing down against her, hard.

     Mindfang growls in delight until Redglare breaks their hips apart, and with a grin, she leans closer, so that their noses almost touch. Slowly, not trusting Mindfang to not try reversing their positions at any given chance, Redglare lets go of her wrists, but takes a firm hold of her jaw. She keeps her empty gaze forward, hoping that Mindfang meets it, and as she tilts Mindfang's head back, Redglare leans to the side, reaching under the bed. The tips of her fingers don't quite reach the floorboards, but after a few seconds of searching, graze against metal. Typical.

     With a throaty laugh, Mindfang says, “An agent of the law until the end, I see,” and makes absolutely no attempt to move her arms from where they have been placed.

     Redglare only frowns, not certain that she enjoys the extent of Mindfang's compliance, but snaps the shackles around her wrists nonetheless, each one either side of a slat in her headboard. The chain rattles as Mindfang makes a point of illustrating that she is, in fact, bound and unable to go anywhere, and without the threat of Mindfang's hands roaming all over her or Mindfang making her own hands do the same, Redglare momentarily considers returning to her previous position. But no, she decides, Mindfang would enjoy that all too much, and she sees no reason to appease such a pathetic woman.

     Pushing herself up on her knees, Redglare shuffles forward, and hears Mindfang's breath tangle up in her throat in anticipation as she kneels, thighs pressing to the sides of Mindfang's arms, which are in turn crossed beneath head. Again, Mindfang's eagerness to please infuriates Redglare, and as she presses herself to Mindfang's deft tongue, she can only wonder if it's right to hate somebody so much, so quickly. Mindfang quickly proves that yes, it most certainly is, and that Redglare could stand to hate her much more; and she does, with how infuriatingly slowly Mindfang works her tongue against her.

     Redglare has never been the most practised at keeping quiet, prone to spontaneous fits of laughter as she is, and now, as she rocks herself down against Mindfang's mouth, her own throaty sounds only serve to increase Mindfang's enjoyment. Redglare can't stand it, but by now, she can't bring herself to make Mindfang stop, either. Her body is a tangle of frustration and her mind isn't much better off, and she grasps at Mindfang's horns, pulling at them, demanding that she work faster.

     And Mindfang obliges, all too happily. Redglare moans, certain that her hands must turn white around Mindfang's horns, and knows without seeing that Mindfang must be looking up at her right now, watching her twitch and her back arch above her, because of what she does with her mouth. Once she finally finds herself in a rhythm, Redglare bows her head forward, red eyes screwing shut, face twisting up with a mixture of contempt and need, just so that Mindfang can see. And Mindfang, she certainly knows how to get to a blind woman. Every so often, she'll let out a low, throaty moan of her own, and Redglare will shiver, feeling it reverberate through her before she hears it.

     Redglare hates that Mindfang knows what she's doing, hates that Mindfang shows no deference, despite being on her back, chained as she is, and hates that it doesn't take long. Her body tenses, falls slack, burns in every shade of every colour, and Redglare hates that she hates her, and can think of nothing but that.

     Redglare clears her throat as she breaks herself away from Mindfang's mouth, immediately making her way onto feet that feel a little weaker than she'd like them to. As she crouches on the floor, reaching out for her discarded clothing, she hears Mindfang lick at her lips, and takes her time in dressing. Mindfang really must be a state, sprawled out like that, hair tangled, and Redglare pays her no heed as she makes her way around the block, fingers tracing the outlines of treasure chests bolted to the walls of her chamber.

     “What are you doing?” Mindfang asks, voice hazy, and then the chains rattle and the bed creaks as she tries to rearrange herself in order to see what Redglare is up to, opening her chests like that.

     Saying nothing, but allowing herself to smile, Redglare turns back to face her, cane in hand. She hasn't needed it in days, but that's not the issue here. The fact of the matter is that Mindfang had seized it from her, and now that she's reclaimed it for her own, she sees no reason to linger in her bed chambers.

     “Remember what you said about not killing me, Marquise,” Redglare says with an almost polite nod of her head, and then makes he way out of the block, cane tapping against the floor in time with every step she takes.

*

     Redglare is in her cell when the ship finally docks.

     She has returned to retrieve her glasses, rather than to reminisce, for she has refused to wear them ever since Mindfang gave them back to her. She didn't want Mindfang to think that any action she undertook while on the ship was a means of payment for the safe return of her glasses. But now, having heard whisperings of land being in sight, Redglare believes herself bold enough to assume that this is where she will be let off, because Mindfang has never alluded to this arrangement being anything close to permanent. Redglare has no idea where she will be when she steps off the ship, but if she's sure of one thing, it's that it'll be better than being here.

     Her belief in this fact is only strengthened when she hears footsteps approach from beyond the door, and Redglare turns to face Mindfang before she steps into the block. She holds her glasses between her fingers, and places them back on the bridge of her nose when Mindfang goes so far as to step in the cell with her. Redglare expects Mindfang to try _something_ , now that her departure seems assured, but she didn't think she'd go down the route of actively trying to convince her to stay with her words. Redglare laughs under her breath as she speaks; Mindfang really has no clue how to go about anything without her mind control to rely on.

     “You wouldn't have to stay down _here_ of course,” Mindfang continues. “Perish the thought. Much more fitting quarters could be arranged for you.”

     The mere implication that Redglare would want to stay is already too much for her. Mindfang seems to be suggesting that she would be happy there, worse off than one of her whores, for not being paid, and in an instant, Redglare has Mindfang thrust up against the bars of her cell, jawbone clashing against sturdy metal. Redglare presses herself against Mindfang's back, uses her thumb to unsheathe the blade from her cane, and has it draped across Mindfang's throat.

     “What's the matter?” Mindfang asks with a shaky laugh. “I wouldn't have you killed, no matter how I desire as much. Don't you hate me?”

     Redglare uses a hand to trace the length of Mindfang's arm, fingertips brushing from her shoulder to her knuckles. Mindfang's hands are clutching the bars that she herself has refused to cling to. With a grin and a sharp inhalation of breath, Redglare presses the rows of jagged teeth that Mindfang covets so to the shell of her ear.

     “Perhaps it's platonic,” Redglare says, and then smirks, not able to believe her own words. She wouldn't be surprised if even Mindfang could smell the lie.

     “Then you won't hesitate to splay open my throat,” Mindfang says, shoulder blades jutting out and pressing to Redglare's chest. Redglare's grasp on her cane tightens for a brief moment, and it's so, _so_ tempting, but she somehow refrains, and very slowly pulls the blade away, propping it against the wall without sheathing it first. The fingers that brushed Mindfang's knuckles tangle in her hair, tilting her head back, and Redglare laughs into her throat, delighted, when the desire engulfing Mindfang's body becomes palpable. Redglare's free hand darts to the buckle on Mindfang's belt, fingers tracing the shape of the iron ♏ and memorising every dent and scrape in the metal before she unbuckles it.

     With a hiss, Mindfang rocks her hips towards Redglare's fingers as they slide down between her legs, and Redglare jerks her own hips forward, pinning Mindfang against the steel bars all the more, giving her less and less space to move. But Mindfang seems to care for none of that, and Redglare presses her cheek to Mindfang's as she rubs her fingers in rough, inconsistent circles against her, feeling her eyelashes brush against her temple as her eyes flutter to a satisfied close. Scowling, Redglare only works harder, teeth snapping together as she can't help but refrain from whispering in her ear.

     “I'm not going to lose twice, Marquise,” she murmurs, voice low, fingers sliding inside of Mindfang. The fabric of her pants is restrictive, but from the sound of things, Redglare is managing to flex her wrist more than enough. “I'm going to take everything you have. Your crew, your fleet, your treasure.”

     “ _Redglare_ , for the love of—” Mindfang half growls, half whimpers, fingers tightening around the bars all the more. Redglare smiles thickly, feeling all of the heat rush from Mindfang, until her own body is at the mercy of the sound of her heartbeat thumping in her ears. Redglare allows her tongue to loll out, swiping lazily against Mindfang's throat and tasting just how her stomach clenches in twisted pleasure at all of this. There's panic in her voice, but there's something raw about it, something flashes perfect blue in Redglare's mind and makes her fingers work deeper.

     “Your treasure, your vision eightfold...” Redglare continues softly, thumb rubbing against Mindfang too, now, “And when the hangman takes your life, I'll ask him for your boots, and keep them as a trophy.”

     With a final buck of her hips and the sound of what must be Mindfang's toes curling in her leather boots, she swears rather eloquently under her breath, and then crumples against the cell bars. Redglare laughs, doesn't care to measure the sound of it, and then pulls roughly on Mindfang's hair, tilting her head back once again. Redglare presses her dry lips to Mindfang's, and doesn't stop her laughter for anything; not to catch her breath, and not to kiss her. Mindfang attempts to return the kiss but finds that she doesn't quite have the required level of coherency to do so. Knowing that it won't last much longer than a mere second or two, Redglare withdraws her fingers from inside of her and releases her grip on her hair, taking a step back.

     Mindfang recomposes herself quickly enough. Her breathing becomes even, and she buckles her belt back up as Redglare rejoins her blade with its sheath, the sound of sharpened metal chiming in the dingy cell. There would be a different weight to it with Mindfang's blood on it, and Redglare is very close to regret when she allows herself to linger on the fact that she didn't splice Mindfang's throat down the centre. Instead of faltering in either her thoughts or actions, Redglare runs her thumb across the dragon's head carved into the handle of the cane, and makes her way out of the cell, shallow water splashing around her boots.

     “Until the next time, Redglare,” Mindfang says, following her out of the cell, closing and locking it after her. “I can only trust that you'll be more of a challenge, next we meet.”

     “The same to you, Marquise,” Redglare says, bowing to feign respect, because Mindfang must do the same, if the sound of her feet shifting and jacket creasing is anything to go by. It earns a laugh from Mindfang, and Redglare makes a mental note to never again do anything to amuse the woman. For a moment, she stays completely still, saying nothing, as if she expects Mindfang to say something more to her before she leaves. When the silence persists, Redglare wraps her hand around the handle of the door, tense. She wouldn't put it past Mindfang to push a blade into the small of her back, and is not comfortable being the first to leave.

     But no harm comes to Redglare, even as she steps out onto the deck, fresh air rushing into her lungs. She taps the end of her cane against the length of the bridge as she makes her way onto solid ground, certain that it must be some trap, but smiles to herself, in spite of any nerves; she knows well enough that Mindfang will still fear the threat of fire, if there is any sense left in her, no matter how seemingly endless an expanse of water she surrounds herself with.

     It's only the first round of many, after all, and Redglare means every word she's ever said to her.


End file.
